


Sucker Love

by RosemarysBabysitter (TashaElizabeth)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal, Alpha Will, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Biting, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:51:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3216434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TashaElizabeth/pseuds/RosemarysBabysitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alpha/Beta/Omega-verse Hannibal/Chilton/Will fic set during Will's incarceration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hannibal cleared away the dishes and left Chilton sitting alone in the dim grotto of the dining room for several nerve racking minutes.The evening so far had been a pleasant affair, wavering on the line between collegial dinner and seduction. That Hannibal was an alpha, the bare fact of this, had sat between them huge and immovable but most of Chilton’s professional conversations provided this obstacle and it was only after Hannibal physically left the room that Chilton had time to consider the myriad of ways that the situation could progress.

“If I may speak frankly, Frederick.” Hannibal said, returning so quietly Chilton jumped in his seat. He had opened the wine and he paused to pour a generous portion into each of their glasses.

“Of course.” Chilton spoke cheerfully. “You know I value your...” Here he stopped as though mulling over the words, consciously placing proper emphasis on the phrase. “Professional opinion.”

Hannibal sat and took up his glass. “Its so unusual for a man of your biology to hold such a position of power. It seems a shame to rely on such ordinary confrontation tactics. In the case of Will Graham most especially.”

Chilton took a deep breath but did not change his bemused expression. “If you tell me to use my inherent omega nurturing ability or some such garbage, I will throw this drink in you face.”

Hannibal smiled disarmingly. “A pitiful waste that would be, especially with such a very decent sauvignon blanc.”

“Thank you.”

They both drank.

“Luckily I was recommending nothing of the sort.” Hannibal broke eye contact for a moment and when he looked back he seemed pleased that Chilton had not looked away from his face. “Will has never been entirely comfortable with his sexuality. His alpha nature is as much a mystery to him as his sense of self. A simple increase in his pheromone levels might allow the insight necessary to understand his pathology.”

“Alpha pheromone manipulation,” Chilton said, the official phrase heavy on his tongue. “That’s illegal without a court order.”

“Medically, yes. But if a natural manipulation were to occur no one could see fault in any unintended repercussions. Such natural influences happen all the time. If you were to interview him when your own pheromones were quite high, it might provoke a sympathetic reaction.” Hannibal shut his eyes briefly and allowed himself a long, slow inhale of the air in Chilton’s direction. “Schedule another interview for, say, a week and a half judging by your baseline.” He opened his eyes again and Chilton couldn’t place the emotion which lit them from within. 

“That would certainly be an alternative tactic.” 

Hannibal chuckled politely and picked the bottle off the table. “By the way, I’m curious if you’ve ever considered why it is alpha pheromone manipulation is illegal. As I understand it, omega pheromone manipulation is par for the course in most institutions.”

Chilton readjusted his grip on his glass to keep from breaking it. “I have a theory.”

Hannibal smiled at him. “You’ve much more intelligence than you’re credited with.” He leaned forward and poured another two inches of liquid into Chilton’s glass. 

Chilton smiled. “And its doing me so much good,” he said and drank without tasting.

-  
Chilton always rather enjoyed the first day of his heat. He knew the cliche complaints he was supposed to adhere to but personally he enjoyed being out and about with the private pleasure of his heat focusing each tiny experience into his sensory attention. He liked the soft play of air currents and the slide of his clothing over his hyper sensitive skin. He liked the way the world smelled and tasted and the sun would make things sparkle with dizziness at the edge of his vision. He even liked the notes of disapproval or the slight widening of eyes a simple gesture could inspire in a passing alpha. Wanting to do more than widen Will Graham’s eyes he pushed the appointment back until nearly three, really the latest he dared. He also did twenty five jumping jacks in his office before creeping down to the visitation room via the back stairs. When he got there, Will was sitting in the middle cubicle, staring off into space. The vacant expression disappeared almost immediately and he snapped his gaze to the present with a deep, almost scandalized expression. Chilton smiled, bit his upper lip to hide the smile and then took off his suit jacket and laid it over the back of a chair.

“Hot in here, don’t you think?,” he said conversationally.

Will blinked very hard. “Don’t think I’m the one having trouble with the temperature. Frederick. I had no idea.”

“Don’t try to be charming. You’re much too perceptive.”

“No idea you were stupid enough to walk around a place like this smelling like that.”

“Much better. Its easier if we’re honest, don’t you think, Will?” He sat down in the chair and began, absentmindedly, to roll the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows, first one and then the other. Will wrapped his hands around the bars of the visitation cubicle and then pushed himself away. Chilton could see the tension of the movement in Will’s neck. 

“I thought we could try talking about the murders again, Will. How does that sound?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

Chilton shifted in his chair. “William.”

“Frederick. I want to talk about...what do you think you’re doing? Who put you up to this? No don’t tell me. I can guess. Did he make you think it was your own idea?”

“That’s not a genuine question.”

“Are we asking genuine questions now? Taking turns? Okay, I’ll go first.” Will huffed out a long breath and asked in a rush. “Doesn’t it drive you crazy to be locked up with all these alphas in here?”

“No.” His sleeves adjusted, Chilton sat back in his chair and let his bare arms dangle at his sides, open and passive. He tried to remember to lengthen his neck and forcibly ignored an old, long fought urge to bite at his fingernails. “You are all locked up. I can go where ever I’d like.”

“You’re not mated, are you Frederick? No one at home waiting for poor, Dr. Chilton. So you strut around your asylum reeking like wet and heat.” Will was getting angry. Chilton smiled and this time he let it show. “Poking at the all the alphas in their little cages, thinking you're safe because you’re on the other side of the bars.”

“That’s excellent, Will. Can you apply that insight to your own actions? Can we talk about the murders? Lets start with the first one.”

Will shook his head. “That’s a sloppy transition, Doctor. Too crass. Lacks wit. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“What was your question?”

“How does it feel sitting there in your heated little pheromones with all these alpha’s tied up so close to you and not a one of them able to touch you like you need to be touched?”

Chilton blinked, slowly and with calculation. “It hurts,” he said finally. There was an insincere pout to his voice but Will shuddered anyway, closing his eyes and flexing his fingers against the bars. “Tell me about killing the girl.”

“Which girl?” Will was looking for something in the darkness of his mind. Chilton could see his eyes darting back and forth behind his eyelids. 

“Abigail Hobbes. Tell me about killing Abigail Hobbes.”

Will opened his eyes again. They were watering. “I don’t remember killing Abigail Hobbes. I didn’t do it.”

“You don’t remember or you didn’t do it?”

“Both?”

Frederick sighed in annoyance and switched tactics. “Tell me about Abigail Hobbes's death.”

“Abigail Hobbes.” Will cringed at the name, edging slightly to his left. “Abigail, she didn’t have a place in the world anymore. It was like she’s been destroyed already, quantumly speaking. Killing her. It wasn’t a kindness but… tell me. Can you feel it in your stomach?”

“Excuse me.”

“When I imagine being an omega I always imagine it starting in my stomach. Like a warmth that rises from there, a churning without nausea. Is that right?” He looked at Chilton and there was a flush rising in his face.

“Will, am I making you uncomfortable?”

Will nodded, looking at the floor.

“Do you want me go away?”

Will shook his head. 

“Do you want me to come closer to you?” 

Will’s hands spasmed and then clenched into fists. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, his head against the cubicle bars. “I don’t know, Frederick. Why don’t you come in here and we’ll see what happens?”

Chilton smiled. The idea of doing just that flashed briefly before him. Being pushed against the bars until he whimpered. Will fumbling with his belt. The clean smell of Will’s skin. Chilton did reek like wet now, he could smell it himself. “I’m going to stand up.” He did, with careful slow exactness to his movements. His skin was alive with goosebumps and he craned his neck under them. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Will didn’t say anything. Chilton, slowly, reached in through the bars of the cage and sank his fingers into the curls of Will’s hair. Will’s scalp was hot and soft under his fingernails. Will brought his hand up to tangle their fingers together. He pulled Chilton’s hand to him and turned his face into the bare skin of his arm.

“To answer your question, yes, I feel it in my stomach. It...blisters through me until I’m hollow and hungry.”

“Why don’t you take the suppressors?” Will groaned.

Chilton rolled his eyes. “I have a very regular cycle, a big empty house and a strong lock on my door.”

“That’s how you get away with it. I asked why you do it.” 

Will dragged his nose against the inside of Chilton’s arms his lips forming words he didn’t say. Chilton looked down on him, with an expression not unlike fondness. “I’ve never really understood why I’m charged with the burden of proof in this instance. Shouldn’t I have to be provided with a reason to give it up?”

Will nodded. “I understand,” he said and then he licked his lips and sank his teeth into the soft skin of Chilton's arm.

Chilton had to call two orderlies and slip away in the scuffle. He left his jacket behind and he wondered, as he drove home in the lengthening daylight, whether under alternative circumstances Will would have slept with the jacket balled under his head like a pillow. Once home, he locked the door and enabled the security system before wrenching off his shirt and tie. He was sweating now. He went into the ground floor bathroom and washed the bite mark under the tap. It took a long time to bandage properly. His hands were shaking and he couldn't get the tape to stick to his wet skin. When he was finished he couldn’t sit still. He went up to the bedroom and changed out of his clothes and into something comfortable and worn, a ancient pair of surgical scrubs from his medical school days now relegated to pajamas. He went back downstairs to the kitchen and started to make toast and then open a bottle of wine but he abandoned both on the counter before he was finished. Sensations were distracting him from action.His attention repeatedly fixed on objects caught in glimpses of the corner of his eye. He found himself playing with his cell phone, standing in the middle of the kitchen and dragging his contacts list up and down through the L’s. When he realized what he was doing he took the battery out, put it in the pantry and then went upstairs to his bedroom and went decisively to sleep.

When he woke again it was almost eleven and he was throbbing all over with a shallow tightening pain. Just the weight of the sheets on his legs made him gasp. He threw them aside and turned over, burying his face in the smell of his own sweat. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure up the sensation of someone putting their hand on his back and rubbing his shirt back and forth against his skin. In that moment he couldn’t imagine wanting anything in the world more than that simple soothing touch. Then there was a noise from the hallway and he realized there was someone in his house. 

There wasn’t actually anyone in the house. Chilton knew this analytically. Someone in the house was the top third or fourth most common heat induced hallucination, right under sensing your mate’s actions from afar. It was his mind, awash with neurochemicals, playing tricks on his perceptions. But still, it nagged at him. He could hears sounds coming from the floor below and the noises prickled on the back of his neck until he staggered out of the bed and out into the hallway. 

Every step made him bob and thrum against the beating in his head. He was wet down the back of his scrub pants and he didn’t care. He put his hand out against the wall and the texture of the paint reverberated into his arm and down his side.  
There was a man standing in the kitchen, standing so still and quiet that Chilton wasn’t sure he was actually there. He was standing in the dim light, reflecting the shadows bizarrely and he was smiling. Chilton blinked at him and he persisted. 

“You’ve done very well, Frederick,” the man said.

“Hannibal?” The sound of praise from an even alpha voice filled him with a hot shameful pleasure. He staggered to the man and grabbed at him. He felt plastic. “I can’t think,” he said. He was falling then, dizzy, and the man steadied him with hands at the small of his back. 

“You’ve done so well,” the man cooed. He caught up Chilton’s wrist and examined the bandage. “So much better than I could have imagined.” The pressure of the fingers on his skin burnt through the haze of his mind and the throbbing pain of the bite and twisted into his nerves. He leaned forward, draping his weight across the man. Underneath the plastic was a scent he couldn’t place, dry and familiar.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Help me.” And then he buried his face in the man’s collar as the full realization of what those words meant to other people when they were spoken by a person like him, sweaty and gasping and clinging to a strong set of shoulders. 

“I’m not going to fuck you,” the man said soothingly. “You mustn't worry about that.” Chilton made a high pitched sound and he couldn’t tell if it was relief or disappointment. “But you are quite disheveled,” the man went on. His voice was still and quiet.“Allow me assist you with that.” The man was wearing gloves and they rubbed against the skin of Chilton’s sides with a delicious friction burn. The man rolled Chilton’s the shirt up over his head, folded it, and put it in a plastic bag on the counter. Then he pushed down on the waistband of his pants and held Chilton steady as he stepped out of them. He put a hand against Chilton’s face and the latex snagged into his hair. Chilton wanted to cry but he didn’t cry and he didn’t beg and he dug with his fingernails, scraping little pieces up plastic underneath them.

“Shh, Frederick. Let’s get you back to bed.”

They did.  
-  
Someone wiped his face with a towel and he hummed a note of appreciation. The towel continued, scraping off the layer of sweat and rut with stiff fibers. It moved down his neck and chest, over his stomach and then down his left leg. He bucked toward the pressure on instinct as it moved over the joint where his pelvis met his thigh. There was a rustling sound of tools being tidied away and then a solid hand smacked roughly against his hip and he jumped. The hand was gloved in latex and even as he whimpered at the sensation his wet, aching body resisted when two fingers when pressed against him and then into him. 

“I just need a sample Frederick. I don’t think you’ll dislike the process at this stage.”

Chilton pushed his head off the mattress and tried very hard to see the person at the end of his bed. “Wait,” he said. “Wait. Stop.” The fingers stopped, just breaching him. A gloved hand stroked the soft skin of his thigh. 

“So smart, Freddy darling. So smart and so in control. We’re going to do wonderful things.”

Chilton couldn’t see anything. He fell back onto the sheets and shut his eyes.  
-  
When he woke up again it was Friday morning and the worst of it was over. He could breathe deeply again and he could think with a clarity that revealed the level to which he had been muddied the day before. He’d pulled the bandage off in his sleep and there was bruising underneath the bite make he hadn’t notice before, the purple livid swelling of a suck mark. He remembered flashes of an intense fever dream and his muscles twitched and ached. He went into the shower and sat on the floor, letting the water flow over his face and in and out of his mouth. When the hot water was gone he put on a bathrobe and went into the kitchen. Despite already calculating the number of hours until any of his favorite restaurants opened for delivery he opened the refrigerator. He found some sausages he didn’t remember buying and threw them away. Damn housekeeper was starting to become more trouble than she was worth. In the back of the freezer he found half a pint of lemon sorbet. He ate it sitting on the piano bench, with the sun coming in the through the windows and the house empty, silent and still.


	2. Chapter 2

There was dust in the top of the glass of water the Hospital Board had put at his place. When they fidgeted in their chairs or rose to take phone calls, the dust in the glass bobbed and churned on top of the water. Chilton stared at it all through the meeting. He tried very hard not to sulk but when he was not directly focused on the expression of his face it fell back into petulance. 

“Please don’t consider our actions punitive, Frederick.”

They all called him Frederick, even the beta secretaries in their cheap, polyester shirts. 

“No?,” Chilton said.

“Far from it.” The board director was shuffling through paperwork as he spoke. “It’s simply a precaution. The board has to have certain assurances of your safety. If you were to come to harm by attempting to fulfill your professional duties we would consider it entirely our fault. We’d just feel more comfortable if you had some measure of al...ahem...supervision with this particular patient.” 

_Go play dolls with the other ‘megas!/ Darling, don’t you think fencing is a little rough for a boy like you?/ If pre-med doesn’t work out, we have a really great nursing program/ There isn’t anything wrong with not being a surgeon. It’s good to know your limitations while you’re young./ I don’t want to hire someone who’s going to run off and get pregnant as soon as I’ve got them trained./ Here let me do it./ Let me help you./We’re going to do such wonderful things._

“Who is it?” Chilton asked. The board members looked to each other in discomfort and Chilton knew without having to be told.  
-  
Hannibal was there the next morning to follow him on his rounds. As greeting Hannibal asked to see the bite. Chilton had shrugged out of his jacket and rolled up his sleeve without thinking.

“It’s healing nicely,” Hannibal noted, taking his arm in hand and examining the faded bruising. The twin teeth imprints still stood out in red, violent arches. “You were very wise not to pull away or the damage could have been much worse.”

“I didn’t think of that.”

“Instinct, of course. The hyper aroused urge to be still is as deeply ingrained as fight or flight.” He allowed Chilton back his arm and Chilton began to roll back down his sleeve, buttoning it at the wrist. 

“Preservation through passivity,” Chilton said, tugging his jacket back into place. “There’d be a paper in that if only anyone was interested.”

They walked together in the hallways. Hannibal refrained from making comments as Chilton went about his work but he could feel his attention. Hannibal’s silent opinion oversaw every med change, every signed file and clipboard. He was firm and impassable until they went down the back stairs to basement cells. Midway down, on the wide landing, Hannibal caught him by shoulders, spun him on his heels and kissed him fervently.

Chilton tried to speak while his mouth was still full of Hannibal’s tongue and when Hannibal relented, releasing him from his strong arms, Chilton’s mouth was forming questions with no voice behind them. He blinked widely and then Hannibal brought him forward abruptly, rubbing his face against the scent of Hannibal’s sternum, backing him up against the stairwell wall. The pheromones struck Chilton dizzy behind his eyes. “Hannibal,” he said with reluctant chidding. 

“I apologise,” Hannibal said. “The light struck you from behind and I found I couldn’t control myself.”

The measured control of his voice would have splattered the statement with the high reek of bullshit had Hannibal not had his huge, hot hands cradled against the sides of Frederick’s face, smearing the spit from his lips and musing his hair.

“Hanni…”Chilton tried to stay, and then, steeling his muscles and pushing against Hannibal's broad, immovable chest. “Dr. Lecter…”

“Of course,” Hannibal agreed, stepping away from him. He brought a hand out to pat Chilton’s hair back into place, then straightened the lapels of his jacket. “You’re quite right, Frederick. Let’s move on. Who is next on our schedule?”

Chilton was still gasping. Turning back to the stairs, he stumbled slightly and nearly fell, having to grasp the banister with both hands. His pulse was loud in his ears, his mind reeling. They came to Will Graham’s cell. He rapped on the bars and the sound reverberated thickly in the cool air. “Up and at-em Mr. Graham,” Frederick said, 

Will was curled on his mattress, sheets and pillow thrown onto floor in an untidy heap. His cheek was flat against the cheap polyester surface. He sat up drowsily.

“H’lo?” he slurred. He got to his feet and staggered like a drunk.

“I hope he hasn’t been sedated.” Hannibal stepped forward, eyeing Will with interest. He folded his hands behind his back. “That would work against your eventual goal. His nervous system should get as little rest as possible.”

“He shouldn’t have been,” Chilton said, grabbing the chart from the wall. He glanced from it to Will. “I don’t see anything here.”

Will shook his head at something only he could hear. Looking up, Chilton saw his eyes, wide and dark, pupils blown. He curled half of his mouth into a smile and then ran, full pelt at the bars of the cage. His arms shot out from between bars, fingers grazing at Chilton’s chest. Chilton darted back, grabbing at Hannibal’s arm and pulling himself behind Hannibal’s body. His face close to Hannibal’s back, his heart racing, Frederick took deep, shaky breath.

“William,” Hannibal said. His voice was deep with amusement. 

Chilton peaked out from behind Hannibal’s shoulder, face hot with embarrassment. Will was blind behind his unfocused eyes, breathing in something in the damp basement air. He caught a whiff of Hannibal’s scent and, turning to him, let out his breath from between his teeth in a harsh growl. 

“The transference is going quite well,” Hannibal said.

Chilton coughed and stepped back, putting space between himself and Hannibal’s body. “His pheromones are too high. They shouldn’t be this high. He’s reacting like, I don’t know, an extended dominance fight over a mate in heat.” He’d dropped the chart and crept forward to retrieve it, keeping one eye on Will even as he stooped. 

“Impossible?” Hannibal asked.

“Utterly.” The chart retrieved, Chilton returned it and moved again from the cell. Will followed him, then shut his eyes and took several long breaths as though to calm himself. “There isn’t an omega for three floors,” Chilton went on. Even as he said it he felt himself begin to blush and put his chin high in the air to counteract the reflex.He wasn’t sure if Hannibal was actually smirking or if he was just imagining it. “We use only beta guards and keep our omega patients in separate wing.”

“Perhaps you’d better double check your guards and nurses,” Hannibal suggested and then turned, ending the conversation with an easy smile. “Was there anything else you needed, Frederick?”

There wasn’t. Hannibal, with gentlemanly confidence, walked Chilton back to his office door rather than see himself out of the building. Chilton was still rattled, queasy in his stomach and swallowing air periodically in huge, hungry gulps. 

“Do you need company?” Hannibal asked him, putting a heavy palm on Chilton’s shoulder. Chilton wanted to turn his head against the hand, rub his cheek against the back of Hannibal’s hand. He set his jaw. 

“I’m fine.” The words didn’t come out with all the authority that he’d intended and he brought his chest up to reinforce the statement. “I just have paperwork to do. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hannibal squeezed his shoulder before releasing him. “Of course.” He smiled and Chilton, with a twinge in his stomach, darted into his office at the sight of Hannibal’s teeth.

He fell into the chair and dropped his head into his hands.

Total shambles. He had jumped behind Hannibal like a mated omega looking to be protected. There hadn’t been any hiding that reaction. And the morning had gone so well. Or at least it had until that kiss. That kiss that had set his blood pumping and his hormones into overdrive. Why had it even happened; he should have been safe for at least two weeks. What had Hannibal said? Something about the light and losing control?

His phone chirped and he jumped.

_Disruption lower cells. W. Graham. OK for chem restraint?_

Frederick cocked his head at the message before hurriedly sending one back. 

_NO chem restraint. page dr. lecter. on my way._

There were crashing sounds coming from down the hallway. A shatter of something breaking and then a clang of metal against metal. The bed frame perhaps, thrown against the cell door.

Chilton met the guards at a run, pressing a hand to the pain in his side as he skidded to a stop. “What’s happening?”

Both guards shrugged. “He’s been antsy all afternoon,” one of them said. There was another crashing sound from around the corner of the cell. Frederick flinched at it. “Worse, after your consult,” the guard went on. “Then about ten minutes ago, he really amped it up. Starting throwing stuff around the cell, self harming. I didn’t want to taze him down without your say so.”

“His mates in trouble, somewhere,” the other guard declared. “It’s got to be. This is a full blown alpha rage.”

Chilton rolled his eyes. “There is absolutely no scientific evidence to back up that whole ‘endangerment from a distance’ thing and even if there was…”

“Sir,” the first guard interrupted. “We need to sedate him before he injures himself.”

“Absolutely not,” Chilton said, turning to him with fire in his eyes. “That will set us back weeks. Do you have any idea what we’re trying to do?!”

The guard sputtered, unable to answer. His hands were on the cell block’s security remote, ready to put the floor on lockdown. He stepped aside and let Chilton approach the cell.

Will had shredded his mattress, pulling it apart at the seams and then ripping the stuffing and fabric into pieces. The bed had been slammed against the bars. Metal springs rolled across the floor; metal springs which should not have been in the cell of a lower level patient. Chilton ground his teeth to keep from screaming. Someone would absolutely pay for that mistake, preferably with their career. 

“Will,” Frederick shouted and Will froze, head still against the bricks at the back of his cell. He had smashed his forehead against them more than once and there was blood streaked on some of the bricks. His breath was harsh and ragged. The blood ran into his eyes. “Will,” Frederick said. 

Will shut his eyes and nodded. The muscles in Will’s neck stood out, the veins hot and throbbing under his skin. His hands were curled fists. He listened for Frederick’s voice in the ringing silence.

“Open the cell door,” Chilton ordered. The guard laughed at his urgency and shook his head.

“Are you crazy, buddy?”

Leaning over, Frederick slammed on the button himself, turning to the two betas and hissing, “get back!” They obliged, falling back down the hallway as the door rumbled open. Frederick came forward, hands in air as though he was being arrested in a second rate police procedural. “Will,” he called, stepping one foot over the threshold to Will’s cell before Will jumped at him and grabbed him close. 

Frederick’s heart shot into his throat and began to pound, frantically. Will rutted his head against Frederick’s neck and, finding no heat pheromones, gave a little whine of accepted defeat. The sound rose goosebumps all along Chilton’s body. The blood was hot and sticky on his skin. Will pulled Frederick to the back of the cell and sat, wrapping Frederick’s legs around his hips, splaying his hands along Frederick’s back. Frederick was in his lap and his nose was pressed to Frederick’s pulse point. Chilton put his hands into Will’s hair, a firm handhold should he try to bite again. He didn’t. The heavy pressure of his cock was noticeable under Chilton’s body. It was last part of him to relax under Chilton’s weight. 

Chilton felt a surge of emotion thicken in his throat. Will was warm and strong and very still. He made little noises of distress and Chilton stroked his nails along Will’s scap, tracing through his thick hair, anxious to comfort him.

“I don’t know how he did it,” Will said, miserably. “But I know he did.”

Among the ruins of the mattress were small squares, ripped pieces of some soft, well worn blue cotton, stained here and there with some unidentifiable fluid.


	3. Chapter 3

He woke from a dream with his fingers in his mouth and his cocklet hard under his stomach. He remembered faces shifting above him in the darkness. Turning from one firm set of alpha features to another. He pulled the blanket up over his head and tried to dive back into the dream, grinding his erection against his sheets, warm with the heat of his own body. The sticky touch of Will Graham, reaching out for him as he had pulled away from Will’s sleeping body. It had been so heavy, so invasive, he’d expected to bruise and been confused when, in the shower, there had been no marks left on his heated back.

He wasn’t able to fall asleep again. Clenching his eyes shut, he worked a hand down the length of his stomach to his hardened prick and pushed it against the warm flat of his hand.   
-  
He said ‘of course,” to the board when they met to speak with him. “Of course,” was what people like him always said to people like that.

“This isn’t a judgement on your ability as a doctor.”

“Of course.”

“We just no longer feel that responsibilities of the job are ones you can fulfill. We need a stronger hand at the wheel. A more powerful dynamic.”

“Of course.”

“I’m sure you have your own life to attend to, anyways. Ha ha. We didn’t expect you’d stay with us forever.

“...of course.”

“Good. Good. Its best if everyone involved just moves on.”  
-  
The last thing he did as head was get that guard who had called him “buddy” fired. It was petty, but it made packing up his office bearable. He took copies of all the most interesting patients too, smuggling them out to his car in the early morning and telling himself he’d write a book. 

He was shoving knickknacks into bankers boxes and not caring if they broke when Hannibal arrived. Just as the door open he dropped a particularly heavy desk decoration into a box with excessive fervor and swore at it under his breath.

“I see I am too late.”

“Bad news travels fast,” Chilton announced. He tried to pitch his voice up high, jovial, self deprecating. The tone was not right.

“I want to let you know that I had nothing to do with the board’s decision. I argued against it fervently.” Hannibal was wearing a cream colored suit and the light reflected off it into his face, giving him a bright, almost haloed appearance. He came forward into the room and stood where Frederick could see him, if he chose to look. 

Chilton shrugged, kept his eyes on his desk. “I appreciate it but…” He didn’t have anything else to say and began to stack books together to keep his hands occupied. “Do you know if their hiring my replacement from within?” The books weren’t organizing properly. He set them down and picked them up again.

“I believe they’re bringing in Alana Bloom from Chicago.”

“Oh christ,” Chilton said. 

“You know her?”

Chilton threw the books into a box. “I was rude to her in an elevator once.”

“You were rude?” Hannibal sounded amused, but Chilton still didn’t turn to look at him. He put his hand over his eyes.

“It was some conference in New York and she was being insufferable.” He sighed. “I need a drink.

“And dinner,” Hannibal said. He went to Chilton and took the box from the table.“I insist you come home with me tonight.”

“Hannibal,” Chilton said, “I’m really not in the mood for…” He trailed off.

“I assure you, that wasn’t my intention.”

“Oh.” Chilton felt his heart drop in his chest. The disappointment came through in his voice.

Hannibal smiled wryly, cocking his head at Chilton. “There isn’t any way for me to put you at ease sexually that isn’t at least a little bit insulting. As problems go, I don’t think it’s on par with institutionalized gender disparity, but it does put me in a bit of a bind.” He hefted the box. “Let’s say you can rely on my chivalry.”

“Chivalry?” Chilton laughed. 

He followed Hannibal out to his car. He didn’t go visit Will Graham one last time but his thoughts were with him. He defined the drive to Hannibal’s home by Will’s distance.

Hannibal took his coat in the entryway and brought him a drink before dinner. They ate some rich meal, with a heavy, creamy dessert and wines for both. Then after dinner there was scotch, sitting in Hannibal’s study and splaying his legs out toward a burning fire. Chilton could feel himself getting drunk and enjoyed it. 

It was Hannibal, actually, who brought up the the topic of sex. A mutual professional acquaintance who’d made a big production out of their recent bonding announcement. Hannibal had scoffed slightly, implying the alpha lacked tact. Chilton knew the omega in question and gossiped, slightly, sure that they’d been responsible for the majority of the ordeal. They moved from the specific to bonding in general. Both admitted they’d never experienced the well spoken of experience. Chilton, fuzzy headed with drink, exclaimed that he didn’t believe in it. 

“Bonding,” Chilton spat. He took a heavy sip. He knew he sounded bitter, but Hannibal was smiling at him with amusement. “There isn’t anything spiritual going on. Soul’s attaching to souls? Never. It’s just neurochemicals and self delusion.”

“You’re cynical, my dear Frederick.” Hannibal got up from his own chair, went to him, took the glass away “And a little bit drunk.”

“Oh, don’t be charming.” Chilton sighed. “I can’t stand the idea of you being charming right now.” All his many failures seemed to weigh on him at once.

Hannibal stooped by the arm of Frederick’s chair. He caught Frederick’s chin in his palm and brought his face up. Chilton’s breath caught in his throat. His heart began to hammer.

“There are lots of ways a man can be,” Hannibal said. his voice soft and easy. Conversational. Chilton tried to move against his hand and couldn’t. There was red steel at the back of Hannibal’s eyes. It seemed like Hannibal had a point to make but Chilton couldn’t understand it under the heat that had risen in his own cheeks. He wanted Hannibal to kiss him again, to splay his body against Frederick’s own. He wondered if the light was hitting him from behind. 

Hannibal dropped Chilton’s chin and gave him back his drink. The tension of the moment passed. Hannibal turned away.

“Still, I must keep my promise of chivalry.” Hannibal was behind him. Chilton took a swallow of his scotch and felt the slightest nudge of fingers against his hair. He sat ramrod straight for a long moment, waiting for the touch again. It didn’t appear and when he had drained the glass he set it down and turned, rising from the chair to peek behind it.

The room was empty. Hannibal had slipped out without a sound.

Frederick felt very small and the room seemed much bigger than it had when he had been led into it. The popping and cracking of the fire behind him was loud in his ears and the light of it was making shadows twitch and shimmer. He clung to the back of the chair for a long moment.

“Hannibal?” he asked. There was no answer.

Lurching toward the door the world dipped in and out of blackness and Chilton shook his head against it. A computer screen with the brightness wrenched low and then beating back into high, neither letting him see properly. “Hannibal?” he called into the darkened hallway.

“This way,” he heard but the noise was coming off the wall in front of him and he couldn’t source its location. He moved to his left, stumbled, nearly fell, his hand out groping for balance. “I’m not cynical,” he muttered to himself. 

The door to the sitting room was lost somewhere behind him. 

“They’re not real,” Chilton insisted. The world dipped again, lights bright at the corners of his eye. “They’re fantasies. Chemical manipulations. Dreams. Dreams aren’t real.” He put a hand out to the wall and couldn’t find it.

“And yet, in them we are our real selves.”

Chilton shook his head. ‘I’m dizzy. Hannibal, I’m dizzy.”

Hannibal appeared. He slid an arm perfunctorily under around Chilton’s back. “Let’s put you to bed,” he said crisply. He put a nose to Chilton’s ear and Chilton felt more than saw him sniff at something there. 

“You said that before. When did you say that before?”

Hannibal’s heat was vividly present against him, much more real and important than the words that were coming, slurred and disparate, out of his own mouth. The bed lunged at them. It was soft and comfortable. As soon as Chilton fell onto it he knew he wouldn’t be getting up again for a long time. Hannibal took off his shoes, undid the many buttons to remove Chilton’s shirt, eased the covers back to lay Chilton between them and then carefully laid a pillow over Chilton’s face. The dark pressure was comforting and Chilton closed his eyes against it. Hannibal’s hands were deft on his right arm.

“Ow, ow! Owie!”

“I’m sorry, Frederick. You seem to have been stung by a bee.” Hannibal's voice was calm and soothing. “Let me just remove the stinger.”

Something warm and plastic laying on his arm like the hot coils of a snake. Hannibal's hands were hot too. They stroked against his arm, patted down the blanket over Chilton’s chest. It was dark under the pillow and dark behind Chilton’s eyes. He fell down into the darkness and he was asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Frederick woke up gummy eyed and sick to his stomach. The sun was high behind the heavy curtains and he realized by some quality of aesthetic that he was in a tucked away corner of Hannibal’s house. A smallish guest room, with a bathroom visible in the next room. He was in his jockey shorts and the heavy cool sheets felt very nice on his sweating skin.

There was a glass of water on the bedside table and Frederick leapt for it, downing it before he could wince at the odd aftertaste. He would have thought Hannibal the sort to filter his water. 

The water sat heavy in his stomach, tamping down the nausea but not decreasing his pain. Frederick put his arm over his eyes and tried to fall back to sleep. 

He didn’t know if he actually dozed off, but some time later he heard the sound of someone in the hallway and raised his head up to find Hannibal, bearing a covered plate on a tray. Hannibal brought the tray to the table by the bed and then sat, a heavy pressure against Frederick’s legs. He brought a hand to Frederick’s face.

“How are you feeling?” Hannibal asked.

“Embarrassed,” Frederick admitted. He pushed Hannibal’s hand away. “I never indulge like that.”

“I feel responsible. I should not have let you continue drinking when it became clear you were making yourself sick.”

Under his nausea, Frederick felt a jab of irritation. “I am not your responsibility.” Hannibal was reaching for the tray, removing the plate’s cover to reveal a french style omelette and hash of meat and potatoes. “I can’t even look at scrambled eggs.”

Hannibal looked slightly insulted and Frederick couldn’t tell if it was his swooning stomach or that he’d referred to the plate before him as ‘scrambled eggs’. “I insist you eat, Frederick. You need salt and protein.” There was a cup of coffee on the tray as well and Frederick lunged for it first.

“Really,” he said. He remembered himself and tried to get Hannibal to return his smile. Hannibal did, begrudgingly. Frederick sipped at the coffee and sighed. “This is best. I need coffee and a shower and…” He laughed at himself a little and looked up at Hannibal through his eyelashes. “Do you know where my pants ended up?”

Hannibal did not look pleased with him, but he took away the eggs and left the coffee. 

Coffee, two aspirin, a gargle of mouthwash and vigorously washing his face in cold water brought Frederick back to a state something like normal. His skin was still flushed and over sensitive and there was still a chill in his fingers and feet, but he could walk without swooning. His stomach heaved once as he looked in the mirror, but then settled without complaint. Usually, at this time in his cycle he would have needed a shave but dragging his hand over his cheek he met only minimal stubble. His hormones were running wild these days, he thought. Last year at this time he’d been able to keep a beard. 

Hannibal was laying his shirt and pants out on the bed. His shirt had been pressed. Frederick liked the notion of that. The visual of Hannibal working carefully with an iron on Frederick's collar brought a flair of pleasure. Frederick went for the clothing but Hannibal didn’t move, continued smoothing the fabric out on the now made bed so that Frederick had to crowd close to him. When he turned he was tall and solid in front of Frederick and his eyes made Frederick swallow nosily.

He took hold of Hannibal’s forearm and pulled him down to the bed, receiving the distinct impression that Hannibal had merely let himself be moved. He tried to think of the right words to say, the right manner to convey, the right move to make in the power game between them. Then, instead of any of these, he lurched forward, swinging a leg over Hannibal’s so that he was straddling his lap.

Hannibal was wearing a soft white shirt, open at the throat and dark colored pants. The material was rich and pleasant on Frederick’s skin. He ran his palms flat on the width of Hannibal’s shoulders and gasped a little. The taste of toothpaste was still bright in his mouth so that he didn’t taste Hannibal when finally he pressed forward and kissed the man.

Hannibal kissed the same as he had in the hallway, wet and messy, with hands stroking hard against Chilton’s face, teeth flashing against Chilton’s lips, the darting tip of his tongue.

“Can you take a knot, as you are?”

“Yes.” Chilton had never understood so called ‘true omegas’, whiny bitches who only wanted to fuck when they could get pregnant. He wouldn’t get pregnant now; it was weeks too late for that and he didn’t want it. He wanted touch, deep sticky touch and the invasive shock of another person’s skin. “Yes,” he said, “of course.”

Hannibal smiled at him and with ease, turned him over so that he was pressed face first into the lush bedspread. “Of course,” he repeated and Chilton felt the word run down his back like a spider, the question it spurned pounding in his ears.

_Of course, of course, but how do you know so readily? How many times have taught you? How many alphas in how many rooms?_

Chilton put his head down against the bedspread and felt Hannibal’s fingers thick against his hole. He was wet already, not dripping as he did during his heat, but steadily wet so that Hannibal could work fingers into him until Frederick gasped and moaned and begged. “Please, please,” he said going red in the cheeks at his own high pitched voice. 

Hannibal took up his hips, firmly, and brought Chilton into alignment with Hannibal’s thighs. His cock was large, already thickening. It entered Frederick’s hole with a sweet, steady pressure.

Chilton wanted thrusting, movement, a little bit of pain. He tried to move of his own accord but Hannibal’s hand came down on him like iron, arm wrapped around his stomach and chest and holding him firm against Hannibal’s gently rocking hips. Soft movements, a rising pleasure that filled his head so that he couldn't think, couldn’t control his actions. The feeling inside him, the touch of Hannibal’s cock swelling and swelling so hard and so good he could taste sugar inside his mouth. 

Frederick jerked against Hannibal’s broad palm and knew the knot was firm. He felt himself convulse and then Hannibal spasmed, pressing his face into the place where Frederick’s neck met his back. He didn’t bite, just pressed there with his forehead and Frederick groaned and whimpered, unsatisfied and unable to put what he needed into words. 

Joined, they rolled to one side and the undisturbed blanket was shockingly cool against Frederick’s sweaty face. He whined again, tried to move against the knot and felt, with hot exhalations against the skin of his back, felt Hannibal laughing quietly or growling or panting and didn’t know which.

“Hannibal,” he insisted and then Hannibal began to to stroke him, one hand up his back to pinch at the back of his neck and other ghosting over his stubbornly hard cocklet, then returning with a firmer grasp. He felt squeezed between those two hands, pushed down into himself until he exploded, coming in a cresting wave of sensation and shaking against the solidity of Hannibal’s body. He felt so little and so loved.


End file.
